


/ī'känik/

by erenyaeger



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-14
Updated: 2017-08-14
Packaged: 2018-12-15 11:19:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11804943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erenyaeger/pseuds/erenyaeger
Summary: icon /īkän/: (noun). a person or thing regarded as a representative symbol of something.Yuri Plisetsky is a fashion icon.iconography /īkə'nägrəfē/: (noun). pictoral material relating to or illustrating a concept.One day, Otabek Altin will become known for use of ethereal iconography in his work, which usually features Yuri Plisetsky.iconic /ī'känik/: (adjective). widely recognized and acknowledged.Otabek Altin and Yuri Plisetsky become an iconic pair in the world of fashion photography- and maybe even beyond it.





	/ī'känik/

**Author's Note:**

> I love these two so much that I actually wrote a thing after maybe a year or so of not writing anything?? This is a modern au, early twenty-something year-olds. They're in America because why not I guess (I'm just too lazy to try and research the fashion industry elsewhere for accuracy). Rating subject to change depending on what the boys get up to, I will post a warning in the notes if this does happen and adjust the rating accordingly.
> 
> Without further adieu, please enjoy this gratuitous au.

Otabek Altin figured that he and his new co-workers must have different definitions of hazing.

Phichit, the eternally sunny receptionist, had tried to warn the brunette that the lovely staff at Yakov Photography was notorious for hazing their new photographers. Otabek had raised a brow, asked Phichit why he would tell him that, and was simply told that he “seemed nice” and to “look out for himself” during his first shoot with the agency. Despite the other man’s warning, the only thing that seemed out of place with this job was the fact that they had placed him with one of their most well known models, and Otabek was only a newly emerging name in the world of fashion photography.

Yuri Plisetsky was an angel and Otabek Altin was no one, in other words.

It was strange, but it seemed a far cry from hazing to the brunette. It almost seemed like a privilege to take up space in the same room as Yuri, given his reputation. 

Maybe it was his camera, he found himself thinking as he began to set up. Maybe they’d shifted the settings on his camera so that the shoot would be a wash, he theorized, and yet was quickly proven wrong after a thorough check. Lenses, he wondered, and yet every lens he owned was accounted for and unscathed.

Maybe today wasn’t the day he was being hazed after all.

Otabek glanced up at the blonde again, who was furiously tapping out a message on his phone. Otabek wondered if they were waiting for any particular cue to start shooting, and decided to head over to the blonde to ask. He realized quickly that he had no idea what he was even going to say once he made it over, and he almost stopped short and turned around before Yuri glanced up, caught his eyes, and beat him to the punch.

“What kind of stylist just fucking leaves in the middle of set up?” The blonde whined, and Otabek realized he was expected to respond.

“My apologies.” He started, “That does seem rather odd.”

“Yakov hires the worst stylists.” Yuri huffed, pouting up at Otabek. “And these braids aren’t even even. What were they even doing, anyway, we aren’t going for eighties side-pony.”

“I could do better, if you wanted to give that a try.” Otabek couldn’t stop the words from leaving his mouth, as unprofessional as they were because really what business did he have touching Yuri’s hair he’s only ever styled for his sisters, but he was rewarded for his impulsivity with a broad smile from the blonde.

“Thank god. Because I really can’t be on the cover of a magazine like this. Not even some shitty two-cent one.” He clipped, swiveling his chair around so that his back was to Otabek. “You can pull pin and gel if you need, but absolutely no cutting. Yakov wants me to stay, he clears any requests for different hair with me first.”

Otabek couldn’t help but chuckle.

“I think there would be a public riot if you got rid of all of this.” He hummed, gently combing his fingers through the blonde’s hair to undo the lop-sided braids.

“I’d make sure of it.” Yuri replied. “Spent too much time growing it out to get rid of it now. Lilia likes it, anyway.”

“Lilia?” The brunette asked, frowning a little.

“Yakov’s business partner. Ex wife, actually. She’s really the brains behind the campaigns; Yakov just knows how to get the logistics worked out. I think they’re better business partners than sweethearts, honestly. Neither of them are really known for being sweet to begin with, but that’s what you need to run a business I guess.”

Tension that Otabek didn’t even know he had left his body. Of course. He was sure the whole world would have heard about it if their favourite cover boy started dating someone. He felt foolish for even entertaining the concept.

“I see.” He replied, starting to carefully re-plait the braids on either side of Yuri’s head. He decided to try alternating sides each time he finished a plait so he didn’t lose track, and about five minutes in Yuri sighed slightly and picked up a mirror to glance back at the taller brunette.

“Hey. What I said about stylists earlier, I guess you’re alright.”

Otabek smiled.

“I hope you’ll think the same about my photography.” He replied, and Yuri furrowed his brow.

“You’re not from the salon?”

“No.”

“Then you’re the new hire for photos?”

“Yes.” Otabek confirmed, and Yuri sighed.

“They’re hazing you.” He said, more bluntly than Phichit had put it earlier, and Otabek cocked his head.

“You’re the second person who’s said that today. Explain?”

Yuri smiled a soft smile, maybe with a bit of pity mixed in, and laughed a little as he started to speak.

“I mean, I’m a bitch to work with. In case you didn’t notice my stylist left, just like they all do, until Yakov shells out enough money to make one stick it out long enough to make it to the end of a shoot. You’re here because all of the other photographers leave me the second they have the chance to move on to a different, less bitchy model, and you’re too new to be able to say no to them passing me off to you. You’re not even the coffee and donuts guy- they have you doing the dirty work.” Yuri sighed. “Honestly, coffee and donuts guy has it easier. He’s probably getting paid just as well, too.”

It was probably meant to be condescending, maybe a little bit cautionary, and yet Otabek could only notice the slight, probably accidental slip of sadness in Yuri’s voice. It made him curious, because for someone who seemed hell-bent on conveying an image of a callous, unapologetic, and domineering icon, he had a fragile quality to him.

Beautiful, sharp, fragile. Like ice.

Like ice.

Otabek had always preferred winter.

“I won’t leave.” He settles on, because you don’t seem so bad could be taken as an challenge and the way Yuri hangs on the words left and leave are where he’s at his most brittle. Yuri interrupts a plait to turn around and look at him.

“What’s your name?” Yuri finally asks, and Otabek stops braiding to not lose track of what plait he’s on.

“Otabek. Otabek Altin.” He finally introduces himself. “Pleasure.” He tacks on at the end, and Yuri huffs.

“That’s a wild claim you just made.” The blonde clips, and Otabek hums.

“That it’s a pleasure to meet you?” he asks.

“No. That you won’t leave.” The model says, and Otabek shrugs.

“I won’t.”

“Why? Give me one reason why you shouldn’t.” Yuri demands, and Otabek pins the braid in place so it can’t slide undone and mess up the symmetry.

“Because you’re one of the most iconic rising models that there is.” He offers, except they both know that that’s a throw-away reason because it never deterred anyone else.

They sit in silence for a moment, Otabek counting the plaits on both sides of Yuri’s head and fixing them to be even again.

In reality, it’s because Otabek is lonely. And Yuri sounds equally as lonely, and he’s beautiful, and he’s a bit tragic with his mother, the idol, having a psychotic break and almost killing him before ultimately giving him up to his grandfather (Yuri was once a lot more open in his earlier interviews). It reminds Otabek a little bit of getting kicked out of his parents’ home to go live with a cousin in America, which is a little less deadly than leaving a two-year old alone in a snow storm outside a hospital but still tastes bitter when you tell the story.

If you ever tell.

If you’re ever not lonely and can tell it.

They’re the same kind of lonely and the same kind of lost and if Otabek is being honest, that’s what really draws him in—

it doesn’t hurt that Yuri is beautiful, though, he never said he wasn’t a little shallow okay maybe a lot shallow maybe that he was beautiful was a part of it—

But beautiful would have meant nothing without lonely, and maybe lonely would have meant nothing without beautiful, and maybe neither of them would have meant anything if it wasn’t Yuri Plisetsky’s brand of lonely-beautiful to begin with. 

“I think we’re a lot alike.” Otabek finally settles on, and Yuri seems to accept that answer a little more readily. It’s not the whole truth, but it’s a fraction of it, and it’s much more palatable- it’s not quite sweet yet, but it’s good. He settles back into Otabek’s hands as he continues to braid and sighs contentedly, and the brunette feels a warm twist somewhere in his gut.

“So are you going to let me be your photographer, or not?” Otabek asks, and the corner of Yuri’s mouth tilts up when he does.

“I’m going to hold you to this if you mean it, Altin.”

“I do.”

“Say it again. If you mean it.” Yuri Plisetsky wishes he demanded but it came out more like a soft request, and Otabek knows what Yuri wants him to say this time because he hangs on the words left and leave—

“I won’t leave you.”

The words come fluidly from Otabek’s lips, and Yuri cracks a grin. It’s a strange one- still beautiful, still sharp, but this time precariously fragile.

“I’m holding you to this.”

It’s the whole truth- it’s just that neither of them really knows it yet.


End file.
